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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420278">The Gifts Most Dear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami20nat/pseuds/ami20nat'>ami20nat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Satinalia (Dragon Age)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:35:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420278</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami20nat/pseuds/ami20nat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I had the pleasure of writing for Ashlyn33 for this year's DAOCE winter gift exchange. Ash, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed learning about Ashleigh and Alistair's relationship, and please forgive me if I've taken too many liberties! Happy holidays!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Gifts Most Dear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllesandraQ/gifts">AllesandraQ</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first rays of sunlight fell in faint golden streaks across the bed, lulling Alistair from peaceful, dreamless slumber. His body arched into a long, languid stretch as his hand instinctively crept across the plush sheets beneath the coverlet, seeking the warmth of his beloved. It was a habit that had formed during the Blight, when all that separated them from the bite of the Ferelden winds were the thin canvas walls of a tent. Necessity was the excuse he’d used to pull her close to him then, and she’d just giggled and nestled herself further into him without objection. Although their accommodations were far more luxurious now, his craving for her nearness would never be sated, and it thrilled him over and over again every morning to know that he no longer needed to think up some silly justification for this need. Rather than the soft, velvety-smooth skin he usually found, however, his fingers tangled into a fistful of fur, and his eyes jerked awake to find Venadrin resting cozily on his back in Ashleigh’s place, paws in the air and tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.</p>
<p>He gave the mabari a solid pat on the stomach. “Rotten beast,” he muttered, the affection in his tone betraying the insult.</p>
<p>A soft laugh gave away Ashleigh’s presence in the room. She was standing at the windowed wall that looked east over the city, her fur-lined robe pulled tight about her, a steaming cup of tea held up to her lips as if she was just about to take a sip. Alistair couldn’t control the smile that seized the corners of his mouth. He donned his own robe and got up to join her.</p>
<p>“What has you up so early?” he asked after planting a kiss to her cheek. She’d fallen asleep with her hair still in a braid, and a few stray tresses that had escaped the plait tickled his face.</p>
<p>She nodded in the direction of the window. “Isn’t it beautiful?”</p>
<p>Beyond the frosted panes, Alistair saw that a fresh layer of snow had fallen across Denerim overnight, making the rooftops glitter in the pale morning light.</p>
<p>“It reminds me of Highever,” she continued, her voice tinged with sadness. “Every year when the first snow fell, Fergus and I would wake Father early in the morning and he would take us to the Hill so that we could be the very first to sled down.”</p>
<p>He struggled to find words to express his sympathy, and rather than defer to humor to defuse her heartache, Alistair simply slid his arm around Ashleigh’s waist. Of course she would still be in mourning. Once they’d both recovered from the aftermath of the Archdemon they’d finally spared the time to pay a visit to Highever. It had been an emotional journey, but also one that helped to mend what was left of the rift between them following the deal they’d made with Morrigan.</p>
<p>By the end of their visit, Ashleigh had declared that she would never return to her home. He’d tried to convince her that perhaps someday, after enough time had passed, she might change her mind, but she’d remained steadfast. Honestly, he was unsurprised. If nothing else, the magnificent woman that held his heart was resolute in making up her mind.</p>
<p>They stood together for a while, taking in the lovely sight of the city before she turned into him.</p>
<p>“I know I’m being sentimental…”</p>
<p>“You have every right to be,” he assured her, and he hugged her close as the realization of what he could have lost entered his mind once again.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>They spent the remainder of the early morning hours lazing about their quarters, each revelling in the presence of the other as they carried out their usual morning routine which consisted of Ashleigh bent over the writing desk, reading missives and crafting letters with occasional input from Alistair, who wrestled with Calenhad on the floor. They weren’t disturbed until mid-morning, when the royal steward marched a handful of servants into their room, each carrying an armful of garland, tinsel, wreaths and various other winter-season adornments.</p>
<p>“What is all this for?” Alistair asked, fiddling with the tail of one of the bright red bows embellishing the strand of evergreen that the servants were draping across the mantel.</p>
<p>“Holiday decorations,” Ashleigh explained, her face lighting up as she set her pen down. “You told me once that you’d never celebrated Satinalia. I thought it was time to fix that.”</p>
<p>It had been a long time, but Alistair remembered that conversation well. As an outsider in Eamon’s household, and then an orphan, he hadn’t really been included in holiday festivities, but he recalled being smitten with envy when the templars in training from well-to-do families received gifts on Satinalia.</p>
<p>“Invitations have gone out to the freeholders who remained in Denerim for the winter, Your Majesties,” the steward announced, “and preparations are well underway for the celebration next week.”</p>
<p>“Not <em>another</em> bloody reception with the nobility,” Alistair blurted out before he had a chance to check himself. Thankfully Ashleigh knew him well enough to know he’d intended no offense by his outburst. The steward, on the other hand, shot him a scornful, disapproving look, and Alistair was reminded of a very displeased and chastising Revered Mother from his childhood.</p>
<p>“Er...I meant—”</p>
<p>“I have no concerns about the preparations, Ser,” Ashleigh interjected, all business, “as long as every detail falls into your capable hands.”</p>
<p>She always knew how to smooth things over. Appeased for now, and with a hint of rosy cheeks from his Queen’s flattery, the steward bowed to them both, then turned on his heel and marched out along with his workers.</p>
<p>Ashleigh bit back a laugh at the look of alarm still etched on Alistair’s face. “I told you it would take some time to get used to the pomp and pageantry,” she reminded him, placing a loving kiss to his nose.</p>
<p>“Without you, my dear, my entire staff would have already abandoned me for my inadvertent insults to their professions.”</p>
<p>He made his way over to the armchair and collapsed into it, already exhausted from the prospect of having to entertain the Bannorn yet again, especially when the memory of their objection to his taking the throne was still so fresh.</p>
<p>Ashleigh’s eyes had lost their enthusiastic sparkle and he felt a little tug of shame at his behavior. Her gesture was a thoughtful one, and Alistair loved her even more for the effort. Determined not to spoil the day with his anxiety, he leaned forward and patted the desk, inviting her back into him with a conciliatory smile. “Come and tell me about Satinalia.”</p>
<p>“Well,” she started, moving the bottle of ink and the stack of letters she’d been sorting through so that she could situate herself comfortably on the tabletop, “I think you’re going to enjoy it very much, actually. It was one of the most cherished seasons in Highever. There will be food, and—”</p>
<p>“Ah, I <em>do</em> love food,” he interrupted playfully. “You know just how to appeal to my weaknesses, don’t you?”</p>
<p>The way her lips pulled into that adorable sideswept smile sent a shiver of contentment through his body.</p>
<p>“It will be a feast with more courses than you can imagine—stuffed mushrooms, cheese truffles, bacon-wrapped water chestnuts, cranberries and brie, hard-boiled eggs, and salmon and prawn pasties—and <em>that’s</em> all just for starters. Delicious stews...ham hock and split pea, a porray of leeks and onions with mussels, creamed fish. Spit-roasted beef, stuffed chicken with bread sauce, herb-and-breadcrumb-crusted rack of lamb, baked trout with lemon and dill, venison pate, molasses baked beans, pork pot pies, potato cakes, red cabbage, roasted root vegetables and saffron rice.” She paused here, looking quite pleased with herself as she savored the astonishment in his eyes, which had gone round as saucers. “And then you’ll still need room for dessert. Rose pudding, date and fig loaves, baked apples with cinnamon, honey cakes in sweet wine syrup, custard tarts…”</p>
<p>“You’re honestly telling me that all of this is for one meal?”</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>“This is sounding better,” he acknowledged. “Go on.”</p>
<p>“The hall will be decked out in boughs of holly and snowberries. Everyone will dress up in elegant finery for a full day of merrymaking. We’ll bring in bands of musicians, and there will be dancing, jesters, storytellers, games...”</p>
<p>His expression soured a little upon hearing the piece about dancing, and she hurriedly changed the subject.</p>
<p>“...many families exchange gifts.”</p>
<p>“What kinds of gifts?” he asked, his mind immediately resorting to worry. He’d given her gifts before, but they’d always been simple items, and the giving had been instinctive and, in some ways, more of a gift to himself because they were little reminders of <em>her</em>. The expectation that surrounded this exchange, combined with his lack of familiarity with the traditions of the holiday, left his stomach feeling a little queasy.</p>
<p>“Oh, nothing extravagant. When we were children, Mother and Father would often give us toys or little trinkets that we’d carry in our pockets. Father liked to shower Mother with jewelry or the most fashionable silks or linens for dressmaking...”</p>
<p>Her breath caught and she blinked back tears. Alistair shifted in the chair so that he could rest a hand on her knee. As much as it pained him to see her like this, and as much as he knew that her grief was simply something she would have to face, he was determined that she would not go through it alone.</p>
<p>Warrior that she was, it took her only a second to collect herself before she went on. “Nan always helped me make something—pastries or cookies, usually, since I never wanted to spend the time on needlework or drawing. Fergus gave me the same thing every year:  a tin of peppermint candies from the confectioner in Harper’s Ford; his treats are famous across Thedas.”</p>
<p>For the second time that morning, Alistair could find no words. A few minutes of silence passed before the wistful look in Ashleigh’s eyes dissipated and she suddenly hopped to her feet. “Now,” she declared matter-of-factly, “since several of our detractors will be in attendance, we can use this event to our advantage…”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>While they both were consumed with laying plans to win over the nobility, Alistair was also fretting over the gift he was supposed to be giving. Before he knew it, several days had passed and he was still searching for the perfect something, despite having visited what seemed like half the merchants in the city. He’d pored over all of the options, and there was no piece of jewelry, no fabric, no ribbon or trim, no article of clothing, no baubles or knick knacks or whatnots that suited this occasion. Panic began to set in, and in a last act of desperation he sent one of her personal attendants out on a mission to procure an acceptable present on his behalf, but that also turned out to be fruitless. The woman returned with a bracelet, a piece that was lovely enough, but Alistair wouldn’t truly have been able to give it. It felt too contrived, too phony, and Ashleigh deserved so much more than that.</p>
<p>By midweek, he was losing sleep over the whole affair and had come to the decision that the festivities he’d missed out on in his youth were vastly overrated, even wondering briefly why it wasn’t within the King’s power to cancel the holidays altogether.</p>
<p>Just two days before Feastday, he wandered, sleepy-eyed, down to the kitchens to soothe his apprehension with a midnight snack. It was there, as he munched on a slice of cheese, that he was hit with a stroke of brilliance and the answer to his predicament became clear. Fearing that he might not have enough time to pull it off, he woke the steward immediately so that arrangements could be made.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Satinalia dawned a cold and blustery day as a blizzard that gripped the interior of the continent moved north toward the capital, though the castle, decorated for the season and smelling of spruce and pine, was bright and warm. Even Alistair, in his trepidation over whether his gift would arrive on time or not, couldn’t fully resist the cheeriness in the air.</p>
<p>As promised, the Satinalia feast was one for the ages, the revelry transcending the holiday itself as attendees delighted in the knowledge that the Archdemon was defeated; the Fereldan monarchy restored. The crippling uncertainty and fear that had monopolized life for more than a year was gone; of course there were still worries over livelihoods and recovery, still grief over all the loved ones that were lost, but those burdens were tucked away for the night at least.</p>
<p>For Ashleigh and Alistair, the event was not entirely a diversion from their duties. They strategized at length (if Alistair had learned anything over the past week it was that the nobility placed <em>far</em> too much importance on the symbolism of a feastday seating arrangement) and planted the seeds of reconciliation where they had the best chance of growing. Perhaps it was just the spirit of the season, but by the time they took their leave of the party, Alistair felt more hopeful about his place in Denerim—<em>his place as king</em>—than he ever had before.</p>
<p>Notwithstanding the political successes of the night, he did fail at one thing:  Ashleigh’s gift. He’d pestered the steward for news of it all night and finally learned that the winter storm had made parts of the Highway impassable.</p>
<p>As soon as they made it back to their own quarters Ashleigh produced a small package, beautifully wrapped and topped off with a puffy bow. He felt wretched for accepting it with nothing to offer in return, but took the box anyway, pulling away the decorative paper to find a swatch of velvet ribbon, azure blue and embroidered with the laurels of House Cousland. Its feeling against his fingers reminded him of the softness of her skin.</p>
<p>“In Highever it’s customary for a lady to give the man she loves a favor, a token to show her devotion. I used to think it was such a silly practice, but now…”</p>
<p>“It’s as lovely as you are.” He managed a smile, but it faded quickly. “I-I did have a gift...” he stammered miserably, gnawing at his lip, “but it isn’t coming. The storm ruined my plans...”</p>
<p>Her lips quirked up as if she was amused and she took a step forward to close the distance between them. “It doesn’t matter. You know I don’t need anything but you.”</p>
<p>Alistair was not a particularly religious man, but in that moment he heaped praise upon the Maker for the good fortune that had found him.</p>
<p>The quiet moment between them was shattered by the clatter of the doors being thrown open.</p>
<p>“I've arrived just in time to disturb the lovebirds I see!”</p>
<p>The look of utter surprise that had taken hold of Ashleigh was one Alistair would never forget.</p>
<p>“Fergus! What in the world are you doing here?”</p>
<p>“Sorry I’m late, little sister, but I only got the king’s orders at the last minute.” He winked at Alistair as he pulled a small, silver tin tied with green ribbon from one of the pockets of his coat. “And I had to make an extra stop on the way—to keep with tradition, of course.”</p>
<p>“The peppermint candies,” she breathed. And then she ran to her brother and threw her arms around his neck.</p>
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